I stand at the
edge of the roof. Cold wind bites at every part of exposed
skin. Snow swirls and settles around me. Looking down the
people look like ants that scurry and bustle, living their
daily lives unaware of me watching.

The muted
sounds of car horns and traffic float their way up to my ears,
harsh and discordant compared to the illusion of silence that
blankets me.

I throw my head back and stare into the grey
clouded skies above. Snow flakes, each and every individual one
different from the other but their lives are short and
inconsequential. They exist and when they melt and disappear
most make no significant difference to anyone's life. My life
stands at the edge and I see the parallels, life in comparison
to the age of the earth is short and most people make no
significant contribution to history. I am one of them but the
length of my life is still
undecided.

This spot is
isolated and reflect my thoughts. Cold and bleak. I consider
the metres to the pavement as I have often done. Sometimes I
wonder if I just took a step forward into the space in front of
me whether anyone would care, whether anyone would even notice.
So busy with their lives, they don't notice, they do not see. I
paste a fake smile on my face and act. The smile never reaches
my eyes, they do not notice, they do not
see.

They see the
person I pretend to be. The always happy go lucky personality
that will always cheer them up. They have no wish to see
further, occasionally I give them a glimpse of the real me.
They ask me 'what's wrong', I tell them 'nothing is wrong' and
reapply an empty smile before changing the subject, when all I
want to do is yell from this roof and tell the world 'what
isn't wrong!' They still do not notice, they do not
see.

I've become
tired of the charade but still, I play the game. I am who they
allow me to be, not who I choose to be, not what I am forced to
be but only who they allow me to be. I can only show the mask
and I am tired of it. They do not notice, they do not
see.

I can never
tell. I do and they hate who I am, so I do not. They are the
friends of the person I pretend to be not the inside of me. The
real person I am shows sometimes but they just look at me odd
and say to 'stop being weird'. They do not notice, they do not
see.